


Responsibilities Willingly Won

by patiently_yours



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patiently_yours/pseuds/patiently_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 1x12, Phryne needs re-assuring that everyone is safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Responsibilities Willingly Won

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters, but I do so enjoy taking them out for a spin. Thank you to everyone for all of your support on my last (and first for MFMM) piece.

She wouldn’t call them responsibilities, exactly.

To be honest, she wouldn’t call them responsibilities at all, because Phryne Fisher did not succumb to society’s demands of the way that she should live her life.

But the truth of the matter remained that there were half a dozen people on the planet, indeed, half a dozen people in Melbourne alone, whose lives she would protect with her own. And to know that they were in danger, that a madman had not only walked into her house, but had also shared a cup of tea with them, that he could return at any time and harm the ones that she loved, infuriated her.

And once that fury cooled, it settled into something that tasted a lot like terror.

Jack stayed close to her as she secured the house, and once they had searched every room and ascertained that there was no way for Foyle to sneak in, he had left her in her parlour as he went to check for any breaches from the outside.

Phryne curled up into a chair next to the cold fireplace and hugged her knees to her chest. It was nearly midsummer, but fear left chills in trails up her arms and spine, and even though she knew that Dot, Jane, and Mr. Butler were safely in their rooms, she still worried for their well-being.

She had spoken harshly to Jane when she and Jack had secured Jane’s bedroom, and she regretted it now. Still, in the moment, she had understood the frustrated desperation of every parent to an adolescent. Jane was caring and inquisitive and delightfully full of sass, and while Phryne wanted to nurture those traits, she also had to look out for her ward’s safety. 

For her daughter’s safety.

Phryne hadn’t ascertained if Foyle really wanted Jane. It didn’t seem as if he did; after all, he could have easily abducted her when she answered the door and welcomed him into the house. When she had rebuked Jane for letting a man that she didn’t know well into the house, Jane’s response had been, “But you do it all the time!”

Phryne had been at a loss for words then. While she wanted to claim that it was different, that she wasn’t taking child murderers to her bed, she also knew that, essentially, it was not very different. It was only that Phryne knew how to take care of herself now. But she hadn’t always.

There was a knock at the door, and Phryne untangled her legs from the skirt of the Cleopatra costume that she still wore and went to answer it. She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob – what if it was a trap?

“It’s me, Phryne,” came Jack’s muffled voice through the door.

Phryne wrenched the door open and grasped Jack’s forearm tightly. He patiently pushed the door open the rest of the way, stepped inside, and shut the door behind him.

Phryne didn’t let go of him.

“Come into the parlour,” he said gently.

When Phryne didn’t move, Jack walked her slowly into the parlour and extricated his arm from her grasp. It was only then that Phryne realised that she was shaking, and Jack took her carefully into his arms and pressed his cheek to her hair. Phryne wrapped her arms around Jack’s back and held on as tightly as she could.

“It’s just the nerves setting in now that everything’s over,” he told her, his voice rumbling in her ear. His hands were warm on her back, their heat sinking through the thin fabric of her costume and spreading across her skin to thaw the icy tangle of fear in her heart. It gave her strength again, his strength, but still she couldn’t let go.

“But what if it’s not over?” Phryne asked.

Jack didn’t respond; he just moved one of his hands so that it cupped the back of her head and held her more tightly in his arms.

“I can’t lose Jane again,” Phryne continued, ever the verbal processor. “Not to Foyle. Not Jane.”

“Miss Fisher-” Jack began, loosening his grasp on Phryne and pulling away to see her face.

“Or Dot either, for that matter,” Phryne prattled on, seeing in her mind’s eye what it would look like to find Jane’s hair ribbon this time, the red one from her Little Red Riding costume tonight.

“Phryne,” said Jack more roughly, moving his hands to her shoulders and squeezing until he had her attention.

Phryne shut her mouth quickly, although it was more a response to his use of her first name and not because his hands hinted at safety found in human form.

“Your house is secure,” Jack told her. “We’ve checked the locks on the windows and doors. We’ve checked all of the rooms – Foyle isn’t here, and there’s no way for him to get in. It’s late, and you’d had a full day before any of this happened. You really should put your gun under your pillow and try to get some sleep. I’ll send Constable Collins over in the morning to check that everything’s all right.”

“And if it’s not?” asked Phryne, trying to regain some of her equilibrium. “Perhaps you’d better stay the night, Jack.”

A hint of a smile touched the corner of Jack’s mouth, and he let go of Phryne’s shoulders. 

“Perhaps not,” he replied at last. “I have faith in your ability to protect yourself, Miss Fisher. I’ve seen you do it countless times.”

“But if you’re not here, who will protect you?” Phryne asked. 

To have one of her half dozen so far away, to know of his often unwitting ability to ignore when he was in danger-

“I’m certainly capable of protecting myself,” he told her, his face serious again. “And I am not Foyle’s target.”

“No, but you are connected to the target,” Phryne argued, her hand gesturing to the lack of space between them.

Jack looked between their bodies, then met Phryne’s eyes again. 

“Come shut the door tightly after me, Miss Fisher, then please, go to bed,” Jack said gruffly, but his eyes were gentle. “You won’t do yourself any good by staying up and fretting down here all night.”

“So I’ll stay up and fret alone in my bed, instead?” Phryne muttered, but she followed Jack to the door all the same. 

Jack stepped out, but his hand remained on the edge of the door, and Phryne took his hand and squeezed it tightly. 

“You’re safe, Phryne,” he told her softly. 

Phryne let go then and shut the door. She turned off the lights in the parlour and slowly made her way up the stairs. As she turned off the light in the stairs and turned for her room, she was surprised to realise that she did feel safe.

She knew that anything that Jack said had to be true.


End file.
